Prisoner of the Dionysus
by Exterminatedaffodils123
Summary: A swelteringly hot day in Liverpool, 2005. A prison ship, carrying a psychotic mass murderer to it's destination. A detective, searching for a stream of missing persons. And in the centre of it all, the Doctor and Mel.
1. Chapter 1 - Closer and Closer

1) Closer and Closer

It was heading right for them. At the moment, it was still a tiny blue speck in the distance, barely visible amongst the other orbs joining it. One word hung in his mind, refusing to budge or give way; Earth…

Henderson groaned quietly to himself, hitting the console in front of him gently. Just enough to vent some of his anger, but not enough to do any serious damage. A blown computer was the last thing they needed right now.

"How close are they?" he sighed, turning to the other pilots beside him. The duo of them, Ferrys and Chet, were bracing against the door. Not that it would do any good, of course – it was a bulkhead that rose and fell when used, and without any form of grip or handle. Resistance, it seemed, was futile.

"Not long. All six of them are just down the corridor," replied Ferrys, his eyes wide with faint terror. "I saw them on the camera…before they shot it out."

"Great. Absolutely _perfect_."

Desperate to change the topic, Chet rang up:

"Any luck changing the flight path?"

"No," answered Henderson, a grimace plastered over his face. "It's no good. They've double, triple, quadruple-encoded it. It'd take us years to sort it out.

A fire broke out on the bulkhead – the metal hull around it glowed a faint orange in response.

"No…" whispered Ferrys, his voice a mere whisper, as the air almost floated out of his body. "No, they can't be here already. It's too soon!"

"Hang on…" Chet said, his eyes widening with excitement. Lightbulb moment! "If we can isolate the ventilation systems for this deck…" he said, running over to the nearest computer console. "…then we can use the seal on the bulkheads to drain them of all oxygen. It'd kill them!"

"Can we do that?" Henderson replied, following Chet, standing by his side. "I mean, do we have the time?"

"It's better than just waiting here…" Ferrys decided, joining the other two. "It's definite death against very likely death,"

"We have to stop. Whatever the cost," agreed Chet, sealing the fate.

Something went wrong. The orange glow on the bulkhead finally pierced the metal – the seal was broken.

For a silent moment, the three men stared at the new hole, as if they could close it back up again if they wished hard enough for it. But it wasn't to be. The hole kept on growing, the hue consumed the cold grey metal eternally.

Without uttering so much as a sigh, Henderson strode over to the console, and placed his hand on the lever. Chet had already keyed in the correct sequence, and it was only a matter of pulling the lever, and it would be done. He glanced at his comrades, and they nodded in reply – let's do it.

With one last defiant motion, Henderson tugged on the lever, and it was over. The air ducts sucked whatever was left of the oxygen out of the deck, extinguishing the flame and filling the room with silence. The trio of men paused in the air, barely able to move, just marionette puppets with the strings chopped away.

It probably didn't even register anymore, but Henderson could've sworn that as he slowly rotated towards the punctured bulkhead, a quiet smirk of victory filled his face. It didn't matter who came through by this point, it didn't matter what they did, it didn't matter whatever the cost had been…Henderson had won.

The flashing lights danced in the air to the music of metal tinkling upon metal, as the Doctor twirling the spoons between his fingers.

"Stop it, Doctor…" chided Mel, as she swatted away the instruments from her. She was _not_ in the mood for the spoons at the moment. Not that she was particularly fond of them at the best of times, that is…

At this precise moment, the sun was pounding down relentlessly on the Earth below, slowly boiling the people below half to death. Using the notepad in her hands, she fanned herself, trying desperately to beat back the sweat. Thanks to the regular aerobics, she didn't normally sweat, but this was a special occasion.

Amazingly, the Doctor wasn't even breaking a sweat, despite the jacket he had on, complete with pullover and shirt underneath. He was the same as he always was; just a little distracted, his mind working on five different problems and a fruitcake recipe at the same time. Against this, Mel was barely keeping cool in the long white dress, with green polka dots, her ginger curls let loose.

Within a second, the Doctor had replaced the spoons in his jacket pocket, and instead balanced his head on top of the umbrella, staring into the distance pensively. Slowly, he breathed in and let out an enormous sigh, his face drooping a little with the motion.

The two were currently sat on the steps outside the train station, waiting for the next train to arrive. The station inside was an oven, and whilst the outside wasn't much cooler, the scant breeze didn't go unappreciated.

"When's the next train?" Mel asked for what seemed like the thousandth time – she knew the answer, anyway. The next trains were at 15:02, 15:25, 15:46 and 15:59, for the next hour or so. Given the current time – ten to three – they wouldn't have to wait much longer. Naturally, the Doctor didn't reply, focused on the horizon.

"You chose here, Mel…" he muttered, mostly to himself. Again. Here, naturally, being Liverpool – Lime Street Station, to be specific. The front of the station was masked by a square web of scaffolding – replacing the glass panes, something along those lines. As a result, the typically scenic station was instead more of a landmine than a landmark.

"But you chose the train," Mel replied, her voice more teasingly than vindictive. Frankly, she was a little glad of her small victory over the Time Lord.

"Fascinating things, trains…one of the most common violations of the Temporal Laws. Never know if they'll be on time or not…"

Mel chucked, turning away from the Doctor. He was still a little erratic since the regeneration; still, it paled in comparison to the earlier Doctor, who looked like a stunt double for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, and spoke like a child who'd memorised the thesaurus a few times.

Suddenly, a great roaring sounded in the sky above them. Every head on the steps peered skywards, wondering what the bizarre sound was. They abandoned their activities and conversations, now much more interested in the strange sight.

A giant ship, mottled grey and a trail of fire blazing behind it, roared through the sky, black smoke billowing from its rear end. It's engines, like the ground splitting open, groaned and screamed, desperate to lift the great bulk of metal a few metres further above the ground, to dodge the station it was zooming towards, closer and closer.

"Doctor!" Mel called, turning to face him. "What is it?"

"Sh, Mel, sh!" the Doctor replied insistently, shielding his eyes from the sun with his spare hand. "I'm concentrating!"

Something went right in the ship, and the engines clicked back into place. One final burst of energy transformed the painful orange hue into a bright blue flash, and the ship picked up speed, turning towards the sky and fast becoming a faint silver prick in the brilliant blue of the sky.

"Fascinating!" the Doctor noted, somewhat cheerfully, turning to face Mel. "An Alpha-type trans-galactic scow! I haven't seen one of those since…"

However, his sentence trailed off as he spun around, taking in his surroundings. The scorching heat, the blinding daylight, the distant chatter was all gone. He was alone, in the dark and cold.

"Mel…?" he murmured quietly, spinning around to search for her. But she was gone. Everyone was gone. He was completely, and utterly, alone.

A spotlight boomed on above him, blinding him temporarily. The Doctor pulled off his panama hat in reaction, shielding his eyes.

"Good evening!" he cried, grateful for the company. "I'm the Doctor…and who might you be?"

"You are a non-terrestial. Correct?" the voice echoed in reply. Emotionless and monotonous…probably a computer.

"I'm sorry?"

"This is correct. Our scanners revealed your biological makeup to differ from all native lifeforms on this planet. You are Number 3,"

"No, I'm known as the Doctor," he said, attempting to doff his hat in greeting.

"You are Number 3. The evidence corroborates the facts,"

"You're mistaken!" the Doctor cried one last, time extending his arms to the spotlight. Somehow, he didn't move an inch with the action.

"You are known as Number 3. You have been captured. You will face punishment,"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You will die."

Mel looked around in a slightly mad panic – where had the Doctor gone? The crowd surrounding her hadn't seemed to notice a thing; they continued with their lives, almost forgetting the spaceship that had almost crashed into them a few seconds ago.

"Doctor?" she asked, picking up the notepad from beside her, and started to walk over to the station front. Perhaps he had seen something, or someone, and walked over in one of his dazes.

The station, as one would expect, was almost completely empty. Most people had preferred to wait outside in the breeze than bake inside. A few builders lazily worked away on the scaffolding above her, and some stall attendants forced to stay at their posts whilst everyone else enjoyed the weather.

"Get 'em out, love!" hollered one of the workers from above, peering down on her. Without thinking, Mel craned her head up a few degrees to acknowledge the voice, before instantly cursing herself. The worker, about twice her age and not showing it well, grinning a largely toothless grin, laughing up clots of saliva.

Mel groaned to herself, before returning her attention to the Doctor. After a brief moment of decision, she entered the train station.

From across the street, cloaked under the shade of a towering building, the man watched her, through the noir tint of sunglasses. Gingerly, he pulled out a long, thin cigarette and placed it into his mouth, before sparking the end. As the tip of the cigarette began to flame, he sucked on the opposite end, before breathing out the stream of smoke, through a set of pursed lips. His gaze never left Mel.

As he strode across to Mel, he dropped the stub, still flaming slightly, onto the stone ground beside him, dropping it like a bomb from a fighter plan.

"Excuse me?" he stated to Mel, facing her dead on, the slightest whiff of an American drawl in his voice. She spun around in response, a little confused.

"Yes?"

"I think you better come with me,"

Mel started to object, her face on the verge of screwing up in mild irritation and a hint of humour. Then the man pulled out the gun. Small, bulky, about as graceful as a brick.

"I think I better had…" Mel muttered, accepting defeat.

The man brandished the gun – move, move! Mel glanced over at the crowd, around twenty metres away; why hadn't they noticed? Were they all blind?! With a gentle click, the hammer of the gun was pulled back, readying it. So it was real.

"Where to?" Mel asked, her voice trembling for a second with worry.

"I'll show you the way." came the reply.

Slowly, the two of them marched away from the station in single file. The man concealed the weapon in his jacket pocket, the muzzle still aimed towards Mel, his finger never abandoning the trigger.

The light intensified, and the Doctor began to crumple, falling towards the floor slowly but surely. Eventually, he dropped to his knees, holding his head in his hands. An anguished cry escape his lips, and his eyes were clamped shut, trying to lock out the agony brought on by the light.

The booming voice spoke up one last time:

"You. Will. Die…"


	2. Chapter 2 - The Moth and the Flame

Private Detective Henry McAuley strode into the office, tossing the folded newspaper onto the chair beside him. He always picked one up from the shop on his way to the office, but he rarely ever got past the third page – too busy, he often justified.

Behind him, Mel followed, taking in the surroundings. She'd read volumes about this sort of place in pulpy novels and seen them in just as many films; the putrid residue of tobacco hanging in the air, the blinds overlooking the street below like a security camera, the shelves and filing cabinets filled with card files and papers and documents piled up over the years.

Gingerly, she approached the seat in front of the desk, moving to sit down it in. However, she cleaned the item first – removing the newspaper from the top and brushing off the thin layer of dust covering it. Finally, she lay to rest the item in her hand – the Doctor's umbrella, left behind outside the train station.

"I think we both know why you're here, Miss, er…" the detective started, sitting down behind the desk.

"Oh, Melanie," she replied, opening the newspaper to the puzzle section. "Mel, if you want."

"Mel…" started the reply, a little uncomfortable with the amicability the diminutive presented.

Awaiting the rest of the sentence, Mel pulled out the pencil from her pocket and started the Sudoku, scribbling in the numbers quickly.

"Melanie, I believe you are connected to a series of missing-person cases in the area."

"Me?" she asked in replied, turning away from the newspaper for a second. "What makes you think _I've_ got anything to do with it?"

"For one thing, your friend vanished into thin air at the train station before. For another, I've never seen you around here before."

"There's a lot of people around here," Mel started. "You can't have memorised them all!"

Henry sighed, before pulling out a cigarette from his pocket, followed by a lighter.

"Melanie…" he muttered through pursed lips, holding the cigarette in. "I never forget a face."

The lighter sparked, and a thin trail of mottled grey smoke rose from the tip. He sucked on the brown end, before releasing it from his grip. Suddenly, his chest heaved, a ragged cough forcing its way out of his throat.

"Still…what you suppose I did? People don't just vanish into thin air."

"Well, your little friend did."

"Must've been a trick of the light, I suppose."

The cigarette was placed in the ashtray, and the fiery ashes danced from the end as its owner tapped it against the side.

"I _really_ doubt it," Henry said, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the cigarette. "Because, I this sort of case. It's my speciality, matter of fact." He paused for a second, waiting for a reaction. "You don't seem very worried about your friend..." he added, replacing the cigarette in his mouth.

"Because I'm not. He does this sort of thing quite a lot, if I'm honest." Mel replied, finishing the first Sudoku and moving on to the second. "And besides, there's nothing I can do here. He most likely just ran off, saw something interesting."

"I can have some of my friends look for him, if you like?" Henry offered, holding out the open cigarette carton for Mel. She refused, shaking her head.

"I doubt they could find him!" she said, with the signature of a laugh dancing over her voice. "He's the sort of person that can only be found if he decides it!"

The cigarette now expired, Henry began to rap his fingers across the wooden desk, deep in thought.

"Still, it couldn't hurt…" he muttered, picking up the phone. With a flick of the finger, he hit the speed-dial, and listened to the dialling tone. Eventually, the speaker crackle, and a voice came from the other end.

"Mr McAuley?" the voice said, a little confused and distorted by the phone.

"Di!" he called back, leaning back in the chair. "Any news?"

"Actually, yes, there is…" Di replied, her voice softening a little. "We found something in the panic room, this morning. I thought you might be interested."

"Oh? I'll be around this afternoon," Henry replied, making a note in the diary next to him. "Alright, see you later,"

He put the phone back down in the box, letting it click into death again. Glancing over at the guest, he watched her put the newspaper down on the desk, almost all of the page filled in by the silver graphite.

"That was one of my contacts," he told her, a hint of smugness lacing his voice. "Found something interested at one of the crime scenes,"

"Yes, so I heard." Mel replied. "You'd better go look at it, then."

This threw Henry for a second; not the reaction he was expecting. However, he saw something out of the corner of his eye, just outside the window. It didn't really register until it was too late. Or _nearly_ too late, at least.

Without thought, he leapt forward through the air, over the desk and towards Mel. Together, the two collided, and toppled over backwards, the chair hit the wooden floor, snapping beneath the combined weight.

Before Mel could cry out, she was cut off by a sudden orange glow, and a momentary blast of heat. Within a second, it had faded away again, leaving the two in the office. Henry gasped for breath for a second, and only then did he realised that he'd been holding it in for the last few seconds.

Up this close, their faces only a scant few inches apart, the regular in-out, in-out of his breath so close to her, Mel could hardly breathe for the stench of the cigarettes. She twisted her arms into right angles, and shoved the man off of her front, before standing up.

"What was…" she started, before looking at the office. All around her, the walls and doorframe were blackened, some even still smoking and cindering away. A few minuscule fires raged on the floor, where the ashes had hit the rather flammable carpet. Mel grabbed the grey overcoat from the chair and began to fan at the fires, putting them out.

"Damn hooligans…" Henry muttered, taking the office. Only, after a few seconds of thought, the rage in him floated to the surface, pushing his towards the door at an incredible speed. On the way out of the office, he grabbed the overcoat from Mel and tugged it on, before slamming the door shut behind him.

Mel was left alone in the office, bewildered by the events that had just occurred. No time to think; she made a choice. The fires wouldn't be able to grow much larger, as most of the carpet had been scorched to death and back by the fireball. She frowned for a second – that was sounding a little too…normal, even by her standards.

On the street, surrounded by swarms of people, chattering up and down the pavement, blocking up the road, Henry burst out of the office door, nostrils flaring and eyes wide. For a start, he ducked around the side of the building to check in the alleyway.

Up on the wall, the smashed window was still visible, where the concoction had been thrown inside. Beneath it, still gaping up at the window gormlessly, was a man, early twenties, stocky and short. As he turned around, he caught a glimpse of Henry, and charged down the alley towards him.

Henry extended his arms, ready to catch the man. Three, two, one…he only felt the wind get knocked out of him, as the man dug his shoulder into Henry's stomach on the way past, knocking him to the side slightly. He then took off down the street, away from the building and into the masses of people.

A moment later, Mel exited the office, hot on Henry's heels. She was too late as well; the most she could catch was the fluttering grey overcoat flapping in the wind, like a pair of great insect wings, propelling Henry forward, into the relentless masses of humanity.

The two men flew down the street, each slaloming out of the way of the people and stalls and cars and bikes blocking the way between each other. Whenever he had enough breath to spare, Henry would call out for the man, ordering him to stop, but each time was ignored or just not heard.

A good few yards behind the pursuit was Mel, desperately gasping for breath, falling behind in the chase, a few inches at a time. Slowly, the crowd began to reform in front of her, after being separated by the duo sprinting ahead of her. Her arms flailed in front of her, the black umbrella almost a blur.

The chase turned down a corner, heading towards a side street. It was a small, disused section of the city, where shops could have the weekly supplies dropped off, or people could gather and try to smoke in private, away from the prying eyes of the high street.

Fortunately, the area was completely empty, with only the one archway leading in and out of the urban courtyard. A fire escape trailed towards the ground, and several translucent windows overlooked the scene, but apart from that, it was almost man stopped, gasping for breath, resting his hands on his knees and his shoulders on his arms.

Henry reached him a moment later, in somewhat better shape. Nonetheless, the thin beads of sweat bounded from his forehead, with the brilliant sun playing no small part. Finally, after a few seconds, Mel caught up, her ginger locks bouncing around her head as she jogged over to Henry.

"What…" she gasped, through gulps of air. "Was all that about?"

In response, Henry walked over to the man and shoved him, knocking him onto the floor.

"This is the scumbag that firebombed my office!" cried Henry, towering over the specimen.

"What?" Mel asked, dumbfounded.

Henry rotated around to face her.

"Don't tell me you _missed_ that?!" he hollered, on the edge of bewilderment.

However, before Mel could respond, the man kicked out his leg, catching Henry on the ankle and sending him toppling to the ground. The detective cried out in pain for a second, whilst the man ran over to the fire escape, arms chopping through the air expertly and precisely.

Mel gave chase almost instantly – now, it was _her_ turn. As the man leapt at the brick wall, letting his feet bounce off of it and throw him a few feet in the air. Using his new height, he snagged the lowest rung of the ladder and began to climb, adding his feet when high enough.

By the time Mel reached the fire escape, he was already on the fire platform, around 8 feet above her. Whatever her plan now, it certainly wasn't to mimic his gymnastics – not in this sun and definitely not in this dress! However, there was no need. She grabbed onto the scarlet tip of the umbrella, and raised it in the air, hooking the metal rod and pulling the ladder down.

As the ladder hit the stony ground with a _clang_ , the man was already at the next level of the fire escape, making quick work of it. Mel followed suit, climbing the first ladder.

From across the courtyard, Henry watched as the two climbed up the side of the building, moving closer and closer to the apex. With great effort, he managed to heave himself onto his feet, and stagger over towards the fire escape.

The man had reached the fifth and final level of the fire escape, and realised the flaw in his plan. At the top platform, there was one door, a fire door…which was locked. From the inside. There wasn't a lock or bolt that could be opened from this side, only the curved bar on the other side that could open it. And with the woman very nearly on his doorstep…he was running out of time.

There was one possibility – the roof above him. It was eight foot above, at least, but it was worth a shot. As he jumped at the roof, his fingers managing to find a hold on the corner, Mel came charging up the final ladder, grabbing his legs and pulling him towards the ground in one swift motion.

As the two lay on the grille, Mel became very aware of how high up she was…falling off wouldn't do her ribs any favours, that was for sure. The man sent his forearm flying towards Mel, and she grabbed the umbrella in reaction, holding it out in front of her. The attack failed, the umbrella holding in place.

However, the man flew to the side of the fire escape, pressing his hands against the solid door, before kicking backwards again. The effect forced Mel to the side, and over the edge of the platform…

All she could see was the man, now free from his pursuer, jump over onto the next roof, leaving her alone, dangling from the platform, clinging onto the umbrella clamped in her hands, which was hooked onto one of the bars of the platform.

Reluctantly, Mel felt her grip loosen, and glanced down beneath – at her feet, where they always were, five foot from her head…and the ground, a seemingly infinitely further distance below…


End file.
